


welcome to fuckin' Deadwood; can be combative

by janie_tangerine



Series: game of deadwood [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Deadwood, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brienne is the Best, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Curses, Explicit Language, Female Friendship, Gen, Jane Is Damn Confused, Western, or at least the beginning of it, written in the year of the lord 2012 this is how old this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 21:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19181440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: She opens the door and ushers the woman in.“Right,” she says, “welcome to the most comfortable floor in Deadwood. And take off that fucking armor. Also, your name is?”“I’m sorry, I should have said it sooner. It would be the least, considering the kindness you’re bestowing on me.”Jane isn’t sure she’s hearing that right, but whatever.“It’s Brienne, my – Jane. Brienne of Tarth.”As far as Jane knows, a place named Tarth doesn’t exist anywhere, but she has this doubt that wherever Brienne comes from, there’s no place named Deadwood either.Or: in which Calamity Jane finds out someone very unexpected has appeared out of nothing in Deadwood.





	welcome to fuckin' Deadwood; can be combative

**Author's Note:**

> ... so: I wrote this in *2012* on lj as a comment fic for crack while discussing how cool it would be if Brienne met Calamity Jane from Deadwood, which happens to be my favorite show that just finally got a conclusion and that y'all should watch because I say so. Thing is, in the movie there was another character who had such a Jaime moment that I went like THEY SHOULD MEET DLJKGKJDJ so I remembered this and went like 'well I could repost it and maybe write a follow-up where Jaime meets the other person and shit happens', so like... this is 100% crack where Brienne shows up in Deadwood for no reason other that it was needed for the plot. Have fun. This is supposed to be set mid-S3 for Deadwood while Brienne is supposed to be... early AFFC or something. JUST TAKE IT FOR WHAT IT IS. XD
> 
> Also: you probably won't understand much if you don't know Deadwood/aren't familiar at least with the setting, but like, if you brave this without knowing: the language is all show canon so if it bothers you... feel free to skip but it's for philology. /o\
> 
> Finally: Brienne is GRRM's (I'm not even considering the dumb show XD), Jane/Deadwood are David Milch's who is still >> than anyone on tv ever and the title is from a quote from the show From Best Character Ever On Tv and this is a series because I'm definitely writing the one with Jaime and the other person and then we'll see u__u

_Well, fuck me sideways if this isn’t the weirdest thing that I’ve ever seen_ , Jane thinks as she stares at what’s going on in front of her.  
  
More specifically, at this blonde, tall woman that appeared out of fucking nowhere wearing some kind of medieval armor or what the fuck is it called, and whose only womanly trait is probably her eyes. Who, the moment people started to shout and try to restrain her or something, had proceeded to knock out at least five men that were on her at the same time, all this while looking pretty fucking surprised, and who wouldn’t in this fucking situation? That said, Jane can't help admitting that it was damn good knocking out, on the woman's side.  
  
Still. Jane looks at her whiskey bottle – there’s not much remaining. She shrugs and drinks what’s left of it, then aims it at the head of this guy she never learned the name of who’s trying to knock out the what-the-fuck-is-she-wearing-woman coming up at her back.  
  
It hits him in the shoulder, but it’s enough to put him momentarily down.  
  
Some cocksuckers shout about getting the sheriff or a posse or  _more men_  or other shit like that and a moment later they're gone and there’s just the two of them. The woman turns towards Jane, noticing the man cursing on the ground, and she looks at Jane with two ridiculous wide blue eyes that you wouldn’t bet belonged to someone who can throw that kind of mean punch.  
  
“Was that you?” she asks, looking down at the guy.  
  
“Who else? ‘Course it was fucking me,” Jane replies.  
  
“Well – thank you, my lady.”  
  
Jane has to bite her tongue not to start laughing at that.  _My lady_? Seriously,  _what_? No one’s ever called her lady, not that Jane ever  _wanted_ to be called _lady_. Oh fuck, no. To be honest, she’d have laughed if it had been anyone else, but she supposes that it would’ve been a bad idea. Also because she doesn’t want to get on this person’s bad side.  
  
“Fuck, don’t bother with that. No one’s ever called me _lady_ and it suits me just fucking fine. And if I were you, I’d go somewhere else than here. People’ll be back soon, and I doubt you’re gonna knock out fifteen of ‘em at the same time.”  
  
“What – but  _what_  is this place? I don’t – I wasn’t – I don’t even know how –”  
  
“Believe me, people wearing armors appearing out of motherfucking air aren’t the norm here either. But to answer your question, you’re in the not so fucking merry town of Deadwood, South Dakota, United States, and whatever. That ring any bell to you? I suppose not.”  
  
“… no?”  
  
Jane decides that someone here has to do something, and it looks like it’s gotta be her. Ah well, fine.  
  
“Listen, you should come with me and see if whatever you have under that armor might pass for clothes. Not that it’s gonna do you any motherfucking good, ‘cause any passing cocksucker who saw you from afar would recognize you anyway, but at least you won’t seem like some crazy person out of a circus.”  
  
“… circus? All right. My lady. My thanks.”  
  
“Oh, for – just fucking call me Jane. Another  _lady_  and I’ll start gettin’ ideas in my head. Come on, quick.”  
  
And the woman is quick to follow, regardless of the ridiculous amount of armor she’s wearing. Ah well, good for her that Joanie’s place is right ‘round the corner or it’d have been a problem. No one is in at the moment, which is just peachy as far as Jane is concerned – explaining the entire thing to two other people sounds too fucking hard right now.  
  
She opens the door and ushers the woman in.  
  
“Right,” she says, “welcome to the most comfortable floor in Deadwood. And take off that fucking armor. Also, your name is?”  
  
“I’m sorry, I should have said it sooner. It would be the least, considering the kindness you’re bestowing on me.”  
  
Jane isn’t sure she’s hearing that right, but whatever.  
  
“It’s Brienne, my – Jane. Brienne of Tarth.”  
  
As far as Jane knows, a place named Tarth doesn’t exist anywhere, but she has this doubt that wherever Brienne comes from, there’s no place named Deadwood either.

“Right. Get that thing off. I’m going to get some other stuff.”  
  
She leaves Brienne in there, trying to see if she can find something of Moses that might fit her – at least a shirt. But when she gets back to where Brienne is, she decides that it’s not necessary. With a pair of shoes that don’t seem out of some five centuries ago, the rest of the clothing might do.  
  
“Good damn thing that you don’t need these,” she says, tossing the clothes in the corner. Someone will find them, she supposes. “You can sit down, y’know. Before Bullock comes ridin’ here in all his mighty and righteous glory, I suppose you might get comfortable.”  
  
“Bullock?”  
  
“The sheriff. Suppose you don’t know what a sheriff is, do you?”  
  
“I’m afraid I do not. But still, thank you for –”  
  
“Jesus, girl, if you thank me another time I’m gonna throw a fucking bottle at  _your_  head. Actually, y’know what, a drink sounds good right now.”  
  
“Is that customary, here?”  
  
Jane, who had been searching for something better than cheap brandy in her stash of alcohol, can’t help laughing at that. “Maybe not for well-behaved girls, but I never was one of ‘em. And that said, ‘course it’s customary. Why, they don’t do it where you come from?”  
  
“Well, it’s – not exactly – I mean, true knights shouldn’t get drunk all the time. That’s not very chivalrous.”  
  
True knights don't  _what_?  
  
“Girl, if you keep on speaking like that, everyone’s gonna think that you’re some kind of crazy person just because of it and not ‘cause you appeared out of nowhere. And I think that you need a fucking drink.”  
  
She takes a drink from the bottle she picked – same as the whiskey she was having before, but not as cheap as the brandy anyway – and she hands it over to Brienne, who looks at it as if it’s – Jane doesn’t  _know_ , but not the way sane people usually look at alcohol.  
  
“I do? And do people – curse a lot, here?”  
  
“Just give it a damn try. And it seems like you’re learnin’ already.”  
  
Brienne takes a drink from the bottle and she looks about ready to spit it out, but she forces himself to swallow.  
  
“That burned,” she comments, and the more Jane looks at her the more she thinks that she’s a lot younger than she looks, and seriously, how does she know to throw that kind of punch? She needs to ask a few pointers.  
  
“That  _fucking_  burned,” Jane corrects, sitting down next to her new guest.  
  
“That… fucking burned,” Brienne says as she tentatively hands the whiskey over, her cheeks turning slightly pink.  
  
“Not bad. If you manage not to sound like you’re selling your soul whenever you say that word, you might even survive just fucking fine.”  
  
Brienne looks at her with wide eyes as she nods tentatively.  
  
Jane has no idea of what this entire thing means, but as she takes another drink and hands the bottle over to Brienne, she resolves that before three hours, the girl  _will_  be able to say  _cocksucker_  without blushing like some kind of twelve-year-old virgin.  
  
  
  


End.


End file.
